


Dragons Don't Cuddle

by orderlychaos



Series: The adventures of dragon!Phil [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, Kisses, M/M, Phil is a dragon again, but it all works out, implied Natasha/Maria - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: Clint flailed awake, sloshing his now only warm coffee on his arm and down his pants.  Pain flared down his neck because Maria’s visitor chairs really weren’t for sleeping in.  Cursing under his breath, he glared up at the source of his irritation.  Then he blinked.  Maria Hill stood in front of him, still dressed in a dusty catsuit, her hair rumpled and a bruise on her cheekbone.  She was also holding a small, purple dragon by the scruff of its neck, and as soon as she saw she had Clint’s attention, Maria dropped it straight in his lap.  Clint yelped, trying to jerk to his feet, except the little dragon dug its claws into his pants to hold on, and Clint decided he was better off sitting.  The dragon was about the size of a cat, with deep purple scales that glittered in the light, leathery wings and sharp, black claws currently latched into Clint’s thigh.It was also a very, very familiar dragon.Sequel to Dragons Don't Drink Coffee





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, because I forgot when I posted this: a big thank you to Ralkana for the beta <3
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Ignoring a summons from Maria Hill wasn’t something you did if you valued your life.

Not even when exhaustion was clawing at Clint’s brain, and it felt like an entire desert’s worth of sand was making his eyeballs gritty.  He’d only gotten back from a three-week long mission a few hours ago, and debrief had taken _forever_.  Up until about fifteen minutes ago, Clint had also been convinced Maria was supposed to be a on a mission somewhere -- Eastern Europe, maybe? -- not marching around the New York SHIELD offices.  Potentially.  Clint didn’t actually know where she was.  Of course, at this point, Clint wasn’t even sure what _month_ it was, so what did he know?

Trying to pretend he wasn’t falling asleep in one of the uncomfortable chairs outside Maria’s office, Clint took a large gulp of coffee and promptly burned his tongue.   _Ow_.  He choked a little, cracking open an eye to glare balefully at his enormous takeout cup.  Behind her desk, Agent Cam Nguyen, Maria’s administrative assistant, bit back a smile as she watched him.  Clint had made it halfway to the subway before Cam had called him with the news that Maria had something she needed Clint to do.  He’d rebelliously stopped for coffee as he’d turned around, but he’d also brought one of Cam’s favourite muffins back, because no one ever got anywhere when they made Cam’s shit-list.

Clint sighed.  Maybe he should go for a walk and get Phil a cup of coffee.  That was probably something good boyfriends did, right?  Squinting at his watch proved that it was sometime around lunchtime, which meant Clint might actually have a shot at luring Phil out of his office.  Except, wait, hadn’t Phil been sent on the same mission as Maria?  Clint remembered Phil packing while he’d lounged on the bed trying to convince Phil that they totally needed a sniper and Natasha wouldn’t mind if Clint went on Phil’s mission instead of his own.  If Phil was only just getting back from his mission now, too, he’d _definitely_ need a decent coffee, and Clint resolved to go and fetch one as soon as he was done with Maria.  If he was lucky, they could even go back to Phil’s apartment straight after and cuddle as Clint took a nap.

(He’d already asked Cam six times if Maria’s request was about Phil, and she’s assured him that all of Maria’s team had come back uninjured and that as far as she knew, Agent Coulson was in peak health.)

“Barton!”

Clint flailed awake, sloshing his now only warm coffee on his arm and down his pants.  Pain flared down his neck because Maria’s visitor chairs _really_ weren’t for sleeping in.  Cursing under his breath, he glared up at the source of his irritation.  Then he blinked.  Maria Hill stood in front of him, still dressed in a dusty catsuit, her hair rumpled and a bruise on her cheekbone.  She was also holding a small, purple _dragon_ by the scruff of its neck, and as soon as she saw she had Clint’s attention, Maria dropped it straight in his lap.  Clint yelped, trying to jerk to his feet, except the little dragon dug its claws into his pants to hold on, and Clint decided he was better off sitting.  The dragon was about the size of a cat, with deep purple scales that glittered in the light, leathery wings and sharp, black claws currently latched into Clint’s thigh.

It was also a very, very familiar dragon.

“What the fuck?” Clint asked.

Maria glared down at the dragon, her blue eyes narrowed.  “You deal with this shit, Barton, because I’m not talking to this asshole right now.”

Clint blinked again, glancing down at the little dragon in his lap.  The dragon hissed at Maria, tail flicking angrily before it turned around and buried its snout in Clint’s stomach.  “...Is this Phil?” Clint asked tentatively.

Maria rolled her eyes.  “Of course it is,” she replied.  “Why else do you think I’m giving him to you?”

Clint’s eyebrows rose and his stomach lurched.  Last time Phil had turned into a dragon had been terrifying enough for a lifetime -- he didn’t really want to deal with it all over again, no matter how adorable Phil was in this form.  “What happened?” he said.

“That asshole drank all my coffee, that’s what,” Maria growled.

“Um…” Clint said, frowning down at the little dragon -- or rather, _Phil_ the dragon -- who was still stubbornly hiding his face.  Possibly out of frustration, or maybe because he was avoiding Maria’s wrath.

Maria scowled.  “He turned into a dragon in the middle of the damn mission.  No one knows why.”  She sighed.  “Just take him home, Barton,” she said, her tone softening.  “And get some sleep.  He’s been checked out by the scientists, and the current hypothesis is that he’ll turn back into a human in twenty-four hours like last time.  I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Home sounded like an _awesome_ plan.  Clint also took heart from the twenty-four hour deadline.  He could deal with a dragonified Phil for a day.  Not that dealing with Phil like this was particularly difficult, as long as Clint gave him coffee.  It was more that Clint had been looking forward to cuddling with his human boyfriend, because very few things made him feel safer than Phil’s strong arms around him.

Phil gave a sad croon, nudging Clint’s hand with his snout.  Clint looked down to find Phil staring up at him.  Phil nudged Clint’s hand again, and Clint forced a smile.  Dealing with weird shit was in any SHIELD agent’s job description -- Clint could totally handle this.  “Yeah, okay, you can have the rest of my coffee,” Clint told Phil, pulling the plastic lid off his cup.  He tilted the cup as much as he dared, hoping Phil wouldn’t get his little snout caught in it, and Clint wouldn’t actually spill more coffee on his pants.  “Just be careful, okay?”

Phil made no move to drink the offered coffee, instead giving a soft trilling chirp and poking Clint in the stomach with his snout.  Again.

“I have no idea what that means, Phil,” Clint told him.

Phil huffed.

“Barton!” Maria called out.

Clint jerked his head up, trying to swallow down a spike of fear.  Had the scientists called?  Was something wrong with Phil?

Maria sighed.  “Stop panicking, Hawkeye,” she said, watching him from the doorway to her office.  Her eyes were soft, amusement lurking in the blue depths.  “Just stop falling asleep or brooding or whatever you’re doing in Cam’s office.  Go _home_.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed.  “Okay.”

<*>

When Clint finally blinked awake, he was alone in Phil’s bed.  Groggily, he lifted his head to check, but there was no little ball of purple scales curled up under the blankets or on Clint’s chest.  Clint’s stomach clenched.  “Phil?” he called out.

Maybe his currently-a-dragon boyfriend had gone to glare at the coffee machine or something.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Clint swung his legs over the side of the bed, absently noting that he _really_ needed a shave.  After Maria had gently thrown him out, Clint had found a junior agent to drive them back to Phil’s apartment.  Even Phil had been sagging at that point, so Clint had borrowed a pair of Phil’s sweatpants and they’d both crawled into bed.  That had been… nine hours ago.  Huh.

Yawning, Clint gave himself a mental shake and wearily climbed to his feet.  He needed to find Phil, which he marked as Step One of his plan.  Step Two would probably involve coffee.

“Phil?” he called out, stepping into the living room.

Then he stopped in his tracks because Natasha Romanoff was sitting on Phil’s couch.  Clint’s old survival instincts flared up distantly, but Clint was mostly used to finding Natasha in unexpected places.  Not only was she pretty damn sneaky, but Clint trusted her.  Natasha had been designated ‘safe’ for years.

“Uh, hi, Nat,” he said.

“Clint,” Natasha greeted, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Unlike Clint, she looked well-rested after their last mission, like smugglers hadn’t been shooting at them twenty hours ago.  She was dressed simply in jeans and a black hoodie, and the t-shirt underneath had the Starfleet insignia on it.

“Have you seen Phil?” Clint asked, his gaze sliding over the rest of the living room.  He refused to panic when he saw no sign of purple scales and bright blue eyes.  “He kind of got turned into a dragon again.”

“I heard,” Natasha replied dryly.  At Clint’s questioning look, she shrugged.  “Maria told me.”

Clint squinted at her, because while Natasha’s fact finding skills were exemplary, Clint suspected Natasha also had a _thing_ for Agent Hill.  A romantic-type thing.  Of course, she didn’t obviously and obsessively pine about it like Clint had over Phil, so he wasn’t sure.

“Quit panicking, Padawan,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes.  “Your mind reading skills suck.”  She nodded her head towards the corner of the living room.  “He’s over there.”

Clint took a step forward, peering around the armchair.  Sure enough, Phil was crouched on his haunches, tail twitching as he glared at the bottom of the curtains.  “Hey, Phil,” Clint greeted.  “You okay?”

Phil growled, low but almost teasing, his narrowed blue gaze staying fixed on the curtains.

“I don’t know what that means, Phil,” Clint said with a sigh.  He rubbed a hand over his face.  He was still too tired to deal with this.

Suddenly, a black paw appeared from under the curtains, and Phil pounced.  Clint blinked, Phil disappearing in a blur of purple and black, wings flapping.  He leaped forward, although to do what he had no idea.  Wings and paws were going everywhere.  Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the chaos stopped.  Clint blinked again.  Phil was now sitting atop a pile of black fur, humming happily as he licked a pointed black ear.  The black fur started purring.

“That’s a cat,” Clint said.

“That’s Liho,” Natasha corrected from beside him.

Phil chirped in agreement.

Clint turned to stare at his best friend.  He decided not to ask _where_ Natasha had gotten a cat, but there was something he needed to know.  “Liho _is_ a cat, though, right?” he said.  “Not a man-cat, or a magic cat or something?”

Natasha shrugged.  “Liho’s only ever been a cat around me,” she said.

That wasn’t comforting.  Clint sighed.  “I need coffee,” he muttered.

Phil chirped loudly, scrambling off Liho, much to the cat’s clear annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint grumbled, the clatter of claws following him into the kitchen.

After adding a new filter and more coffee to the machine, Clint flipped it on and turned to find Natasha leaning against the counter.  Phil had flown up beside her and was now doing the dragon equivalent of a purr as she scratched his chin.  Clint smiled at the adorable picture.  “So,” he drawled, and Natasha looked up with a raised eyebrow.  “Why did you bring a cat to visit Phil?”

Natasha shrugged.  “I figured Phil might want a playdate, and I don’t know any other baby dragons,” she said.  “Besides, Liho needs to learn how to socialize.”

Clint opened his mouth, but the words kind of got caught in his throat.  “Baby… dragons?   _Other_ baby dragons?” he said weakly.

The look Natasha sent him was distinctly unimpressed.  “Yes,” she said.  “Dragons don’t just spontaneously appear.  They grow like everyone else.”

Clint glared.  His experience of dragons was _very much_ of the ‘spontaneously appear’ kind.

Natasha waved her hand.  “You know what I mean,” she said.  “Phil is hardly the size right now to make knights in armour quake in their boots.”

It took Clint a moment to realize that Natasha was getting her intelligence from _fairytales_.  Then another thought struck, and he turned his horrified stare on Phil.  “You mean he’s going to get _bigger_?”

Sighing, Natasha rolled her eyes.  Phil gave a soft croon, hunching down so he could set his chin on his paws and stare up at Clint with big, ridiculously blue eyes.  It was probably a good thing Phil never tried that trick when he was human, because Clint would never win an argument again.  “You know what?  I am going to drink a cup of coffee, and you,” he said, levelling a finger at Natasha, “can start explaining instead of being cryptic.”

Phil gave another sad croon, his tail giving a solitary flick before he curled it around his toes.  At least, Clint presumed this was Phil being sad and not plotting Clint’s murder for access to the coffee pot.  “And you,” Clint said, pointing his finger at Phil, “can stop trying to kill me with the cute.”

When the coffee pot beeped, Clint turned around to pour himself and Natasha a mug of coffee each, and then added a generous helping in a small bowl for Phil.  He set the bowl beside Phil, and the little dragon almost fell in snout first in his attempts to drink the life-giving liquid.

“I wasn’t trying to be cryptic,” Natasha said as they both watched Phil hum happily at his bowl, snout almost submerged and his claws gripping the rim very, very tightly.  “It’s just logic.”

“Logic?” Clint echoed, raising his eyebrows.

Natasha nodded.  “If you assume there’s a least a little truth in the myths and legends, then dragons are supposed to live for centuries.”  She shrugged.  “Therefore, it’s logical that a fifty year old human would only be a baby in dragon years.”

_Dragon years._  Now Clint had heard everything.  “What the actual fuck is my life?” he murmured.  His stomach clenched as the implications sank in.  “Wait.  Does this mean _Phil_ is going to live for centuries?”

Natasha’s eyes softened.  “I don’t know, Clint,” she said.  “I’m sorry.”

Letting out a huff of breath, Clint ran a hand over his face.  “Okay,” he said.

The clicking of claws along the benchtop warned Clint that Phil was moving before Phil nudged Clint’s hand and chirped sadly.  Clint peered down at the little dragon.  “I’m okay,” he said softly.

Phil nuzzled Clint’s fingers again, and Clint obliged by scratching Phil under his chin.  A second later, the strains of _Walk This Way_ sounded from the bedroom.  Natasha smirked as Clint sighed and went to fetch his phone, rolling his eyes at her on the way.  “Barton,” he answered when he picked up.

“Hey, Hawk,” Jasper Sitwell greeted.  “How’s Phil?  He started hoarding your coffee mugs yet?”

Clint huffed.  “Funny, Jasper,” he said dryly.

“Yes, I am,” Jasper agreed.  “Someone has to see the humour in this situation.”  He cleared his throat, his voice turning serious.  “Hill’s calling a briefing.  She wants you to bring Phil.”

Clint’s stomach clenched, an icy shiver sliding down his spine.  “Is it bad news?” he asked.  “Is Phil okay?”

“It’s not bad news,” Jasper reassured him.  “Besides, shouldn’t you be able to tell if Phil’s okay?  You’re the one looking after him.  Also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Hawk, but he’s also kind of your boyfriend.”

“I haven’t suddenly turned into a dragon whisperer or something, you know,” Clint grumbled.  “Or a boyfriend whisperer, actually.  I still never know what the fuck Phil is trying to do until he explains it to me with small words.”

Despite his words, Clint still walked back towards the kitchen so he could see what Phil was doing.  Which was apparently drinking more coffee.

“Hawk, you are something else,” Jasper muttered.

Clint sent Natasha a glare, because Phil certainly hadn’t poured _himself_ more coffee, but she just shrugged innocently in reply.  Traitor.

“Can dragons get caffeine poisoning?” he asked Jasper absently.

Jasper laughed.  “If Phil hasn’t died from excess coffee consumption as a human, he’s not going to do it as a dragon,” he said.  “See you in two hours, Hawk.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, hanging up the phone.

He wondered if he had any clean jeans at Phil’s apartment.  Maria probably wouldn’t like it if he turned up in a spare pair of Phil’s sweats, and he sure as hell wasn’t wearing a suit if he didn’t have to.  If he did, Maria would probably shoot him for being an imposter or something.

When Natasha arched her eyebrow at him, he shrugged.  “Maria’s called me and Phil in for a briefing,” he said.

Phil gave a curious, trilling croon, finally lifting his head from his coffee bowl.  Presumably because it was empty.

Clint rolled his eyes.  “No, Jasper didn’t say what it was about,” he said, because even as a dragon, his boyfriend was kind of predictable.

Liho took the opportunity to jump up onto the counter, daintily sniffing at Phil’s bowl of coffee.  Phil eyed the cat warily before Liho got bored and moved to sit directly opposite Clint, staring at him without blinking.

“Your cat is creepy,” Clint told Natasha.

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Liho and I will come with you to the briefing,” she said.

Raising both eyebrows, Clint turned to his best friend.  “You’re going to take a cat into the SHIELD offices?” he said.

“You’re taking a dragon,” Natasha replied pointedly.

Clint didn’t think pointing out that said dragon was also his boyfriend and a SHIELD agent would actually help his case, so he just shrugged.  “Okay,” he said.

“Besides,” Natasha said, walking over to where Liho was still staring at Clint.  She scooped the cat into her arms, and Liho immediately started purring.  “Maria likes cats.”

Yeah, Clint wasn’t touching that statement even with an excessively long stick.

“Well then, let’s go to SHIELD,” he said brightly.

<*>

It turned out that Clint didn’t need to search Phil’s apartment for pants, because Natasha had already broken into Clint’s place and packed him a bag.  Clint had stopped being weirded out by that years ago, because, well, SHIELD was a hundred times weirder.  Besides, Natasha claimed she was just being efficient.

(When Natasha had pulled out the bag and disappeared into the bedroom, Phil had looked a little sad, but as usual, Clint had no idea what was going on.)

When they finally made it to SHIELD, there were a lot less freaked out stares than the last time Clint had walked through HQ with a small purple dragon perched on his shoulder.  He wasn’t sure if this was because the rumour mill was working overtime, or if the sight of the Black Widow cuddling a fluffy black cat to her chest had broken everyone’s brains.

(If he had to guess, Clint was going with Option Number Two.)

“Barton,” Maria called out, appearing in the doorway of one of the lesser used briefing room.  “We’re in here.”  She blinked when she spotted Natasha and her cat.  “And who is this?  Aren’t you just a fluffy, adorable kitty?”

Clint’s eyes went wide at Maria’s suddenly softly crooning voice.  On Clint’s shoulder, Phil’s claws tightened, digging through the fabric of Clint’s henley as he gave a loud, trilling warble.  And yeah, Clint didn’t know what the fuck either, because Maria Hill was definitely making kissy faces at a cat.

“I’m gonna… just… coffee,” Clint muttered, making his escape from the alternate dimension he suddenly found himself in by ducking into the briefing room.

Inside, Jasper was reading over a thick report and taking notes on a big legal pad, his tie loose and slightly askew, and a coffee stain on his collar.  Either Jasper had had a rough morning, or he’d been up all night, and neither option really boded well for the coming briefing.  Clint was a little surprised to see Agent Bobbi Morse a few seats over, but then again, Bobbi was a genius with biochem as well as being an experienced field agent.  At Clint’s entrance, she looked away from her conversation with Dr Simmons to arch an eyebrow at Clint.

“Hey, Hawk,” she greeted.  “You look like shit.  Did you see a ghost or something?”

Clint scrunched up his entire face, waving a vague hand towards the door, because he had no words to describe what he’d seen.  A ghost appearing would actually have been _less_ weird.  Phil cuddled a little closer to Clint, rumbling a little before he launched into a rapid series of chirps and snorts, but since no one could actually understand Dragon, everyone just waited somewhat awkwardly until Phil had finished.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t a request for the coffee pot?” Jasper said dryly.

Snorting again, Phil climbed down Clint’s arm so that he could pace back and forth across the large conference table, his tail twitching with irritation.

Clint watched him for a beat before glancing up at a grinning Jasper.  “Yeah, no one is feeding Phil any more coffee,” he said.

Phil gave a loud, indignant squawk, but Clint was unmoved.  He narrowed his eyes at his dragonified boyfriend.  “No, Phil,” Clint told him.  “You _just_ drank an entire pot!”

Narrowing his blue eyes, Phil swished his tail and stalked over to Jasper to sulk.  Rolling his eyes, Clint let him go, instead pulling out a chair.  “So, what’s this briefing actually about?” he asked after he’d sat down.

Bobbi smirked.  “Your boyfriend,” she said.  Frowning, she glanced at Phil.  “And can I just say for the record that it’s really weird for Coulson to be this cute?”

“Tell me about it,” Jasper muttered, and when Clint glanced over, he was scratching Phil under the chin as Phil rumbled happily, eyes closed.

“As far as we can tell, Agent Coulson is in peak health, both as a dragon and as a human,” Dr Simmons broke in with an attempt at a smile.

She looked much the same as she had the first time Clint had met her, all barely-contained excitement and earnest brown eyes, and to be honest, Clint was pretty grateful to see her, considering she’d been the one to figure out Phil had been turned into a dragon last time.

Ignoring the way his stomach clenched, Clint attempted to look like he wasn’t worried that Phil might stay a dragon permanently this time.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Of course.”

Bobbi nudged Dr Simmons gently.  “It’s okay, Jem.  Barton’s just being a paranoid ass.  He knows Phil is fine.”

“Right, are we ready to get this briefing in order?” Nick Fury asked, striding into the room in a swirl of black leather.

A little incongruously, he held a large pink box in his hands, which he set down in the middle of the table and flipped open the lid.  Clint bit his lip when a dozen deliciously iced cupcakes were revealed and his stomach growled in anticipation.  Fury was second only to Jasper when it came to finding tasty food.  Phil immediately perked up, chittering excitedly as he trundled over to the box.

Fury nudged Phil away.  “No, the cupcakes are not for dragons,” he said.

Phil huffed, his eyes narrowing.

“I mean it, Phil,” Fury said, levelling a finger at the little dragon.

Clint wasn’t entirely sure what the cupcakes were bribing them for, but for red velvet cupcakes he was willing to be bribed.

Melinda May, who had followed Fury into the room, reached over Phil to snag a cupcake before walking around the table to take a seat on Bobbi’s other side.  Phil growled, and Melinda’s lips quirked as she took a large bite of her cupcake.  She didn’t look surprised in the slightest that Phil now was sporting purple scales, but then Clint probably shouldn’t have expected her to.

Thankfully, that was the moment Maria and Natasha entered the room, Liho now being carried by Maria.  Clint still wasn’t getting involved in… whatever that was.  He’d call it one of Natasha’s seduction techniques, but they usually involved flashing more skin and large guns.

“I have a question,” Clint said as Fury, Natasha and Maria took their seats.  Phil shot Clint a glance, chirping softly before he returned to trying to figure out how to beat Fury to the cupcake box.  Or at least, Clint assumed that was why Phil was glaring.  “Why are we having a briefing about Phil when Phil is still a dragon?  Shouldn’t we wait until he’s human again?”

Maria snorted.  “No, we need to discuss the Dragon Protocol without that asshole’s objections and this way, he can’t talk back,” she said.

When Phil growled at her, tail twitching, she just arched an eyebrow, which was somehow more terrifying when she had a pile of purring black cat in her lap.

“I thought we already had a protocol for dragons?” Melinda asked thoughtfully.

Clint felt his eyebrows rise towards his hairline.  “Wait… what?” he said, because no one had told him that when Phil had been turned into a dragon the first time.

“There’s a protocol for what to do when being _attacked_ by dragons,” Jasper said.

Dr Simmons gaped.  “That’s happened before?”

Fury grinned.  “Oh, yes,” he said, and yeah, okay, Clint remembered _that_ mission.  He hadn’t been able to get rid of the scent of smoke for a _month_.

Maria cleared her throat.  “It doesn’t matter if we have other dragon-related protocols,” she said.  “I’m talking about a specific Dragon Protocol for use when a SHIELD agent, particularly a senior agent, gets turned into a dragon.  With an entire subsection just for Phil, because he’s the only asshole that keeps turning into a dragon _repeatedly_ and frankly, it’s not helping the junior agents settle into life at SHIELD when one of the senior agents keeps spontaneously turning scaly.”

Frowning, Bobbi glanced between Phil and Maria.  “It would also be useful to know _why_ Phil keeps turning into a dragon so we know what to do about it next time,” she said.

“Are we seriously discussing a When-Phil-is-a-Dragon Protocol?” Clint said incredulously, because he’d always suspected the massive amounts of paperwork sent senior agents mad.

“Well, Maria does have a point,” Natasha said.  “He does keep turning into a dragon.”

Rolling his eyes, Clint glanced to see why Phil had been so silent, because he’d figured Phil would definitely have something to say about a protocol being created about _him_.  (Even if whatever he said was in Dragon.)  Except one glance proved _why_ Phil had been so quiet.  Clint snorted out a laugh, because he couldn’t help it.  Phil had used everyone’s distraction to gnaw a hole through the side of the box of cupcakes and had eaten at least one of the treats, judging by the frosting on his face and his guilty expression.

“Dammit, Cheese,” Fury grumbled.

Slinking out through the hole in the box, Phil was halfway across the table when he paused, a shiver wracking his entire little body.  Clint barely had time to panic that something bad was happening, or that maybe Phil was turning human again, before Phil scrunched up his nose and _sneezed_.

Normally, this would have been slightly adorable but otherwise unremarkable, only when dragons sneezed, they didn’t _just_ sneeze.  Clint watched with a vague sense of horror as a small fireball leaped out of Phil’s snout, whizzed across the table and set Jasper’s paperwork on fire.  Not a large fire, thankfully, but the edges of Jasper’s notes did turn black and curl, and the report’s cover had a few more holes than when it started by the time everyone had put it out.

Phil looked even more surprised than anyone else at the turn of events.  In the resulting chaos, he scrambled across the table, slithered into Clint’s lap, and pressed his face into Clint’s stomach.  Given the recent fireball, Clint probably should have been a little more concerned than he was, but he trusted Phil not to hurt him.  He always had.  Soothingly, he reached up to stroke a hand down Phil’s back.

“So,” he said, gaze flicking between a grumpy Jasper and an exasperated Fury and Maria.  “How about we break for lunch?”

<*>

Three hours later, Clint blinked awake to the distinct sensation of someone staring at him.  Clint’s nickname might have been Hawkeye, but he had nothing on Natasha when she was attempting to be creepy.

“Hey, Nat,” he muttered, still half asleep.

After making his escape from the disaster of a briefing, he’d taken Phil and sought refuge in a place that they both considered safe -- Phil’s office.  The room still smelled faintly of Phil’s cologne, and Clint could use all the familiarity he could get at the moment.  Phil was napping on Clint’s chest, little rasping snores rumbling out of his chest, and it was probably just as well Clint didn’t need to pee, because Phil hadn’t let Clint move in about an hour.

Natasha dropped gracefully out of the ceiling vent with a smirk.  “You okay?” she asked.

Clint shrugged with one shoulder.  “As long as I don’t try to go pee, I think I’ll be fine,” he said.

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “You missed the rest of the briefing,” she said.

Clint shrugged.  “I read the report from the training mission,” he said, aiming for casual.  Like he hadn’t had to seek Phil out for reassurance after reading the detached and dispassionate description of how Phil had been _turned into a dragon_.  Well, for the first time anyway.

“Besides, Phil’s told me as much as he remembers,” Clint added.  “He walked into the woods, found some magical dragon bones, touched them and bam!  Bright flash of light and suddenly he’s a dragon.”  He stroked a finger down Phil’s snout, making Phil huff in his sleep.  “Don’t worry, we already had an argument about touching strange things.”

Clint didn’t like thinking about those twenty-four hours, because as adorable as Phil-the-dragon was, no one had _known_ the dragon was Phil when Phil had disappeared in the middle of babysitting the junior agents.  Although, it had also led to Clint unintentionally confessing feelings, and then Phil _intentionally_ confessing feelings, which had then led to kissing and dating, so it wasn’t all bad.  (Even if most of Clint’s past relationships had crashed and burned like explosive fireballs after about three months, and this weekend was his and Phil’s three month anniversary.  Even if Clint wasn’t sure he could live in a completely Phil-free world, because he wasn’t sure he could go back to just being friends after this, and fuck, this was why Clint didn’t think about this sort of thing.)

On Clint’s chest, Phil blinked open his eyes and gave a soft croon, stretching up to nuzzle Clint’s jaw.  Unable to stop his smile, Clint gently scratched his fingers down Phil’s back.  Phil rumbled happily, and something rough and damp swiped across Clint’s cheek.

Clint jerked away from the touch.  “Ugh, Phil did you just _lick_ me?” he asked.

Phil chirped and licked him again.

Chuckling softly, Natasha kicked off her boots and curled up in the opposite corner of the couch, shoving her feet under Clint’s thigh.  “As far as everyone can tell -- and Dr Simmons is really very smart, she’s done most of the work on this -- the bones were enchanted,” she said.  “Maybe that’s how dragons reproduce, but either way, Phil touched the bones and poof, the spell transferred to him, making him a dragon.”

Shifting so he could see his best friend, Clint frowned.  “Why did it only change him into a dragon for twenty-four hours then?” he asked.  “That doesn’t make sense.”

Natasha shrugged.  “Jemma said her friend Fitz has a theory that it has to do with relativistic mass and how long something the size of Phil as a human can be constrained as something the size of Phil the baby dragon, but I admit, the physics mostly lost me.”

That actually made sense.  “Right, well, I guess that’s something?” Clint said hopefully.

“It is,” Natasha said.  “Also, you should know that when Maria sent a team in to investigate the site, they found nothing.  No bones, no dragons.  Just woods.  So this probably won’t happen to anyone else.”  She grinned.  “We have a protocol now, anyway.  Jasper’s started calling it Phil’s Draconian Law.”

Clint huffed out a laugh, because of course Jasper had.  “He’s going to hate that,” he said.

“So much,” Natasha agreed.

Phil growled, as if proving the point.

“So,” Clint said, glancing sheepishly at Natasha.  “Is Maria really mad at me for bailing on her briefing?”

Natasha shook her head.  “Maria understands,” she said.  “Besides, I left Liho with her.”

Clint eyed her warily.  “I’m not even going to ask,” he muttered.

“Liho’s bait,” Natasha said, but her shoulders were hunched a fraction and her grin was a tiny bit forced.  Not enough for most people to notice, but Clint had been her friend and partner for years.

“Bait for what?” he asked, because it was unlike Natasha to be so worried about the outcome of a plan.

(Well, at least in a situation where there were no bullets or explosions, and no one was bleeding out.)

“I needed an excuse to spend time with Maria outside of SHIELD,” Natasha admitted quietly.  “So I could gather intelligence.”

“Intelligence about what?” Clint started to say, but in a blinding flash of realization, he finally worked out that Natasha was more than a little interested in Maria.  Carefully, he nodded.  “Makes sense,” he said instead.  “Intelligence is always useful.”

Natasha breathed out, her shoulders relaxing again.

Phil, meanwhile, had tensed up on Clint’s chest, his gaze narrowed and fixed on Natasha.  Letting out a warbling trill, Phil uncurled himself and carefully picked his way down Clint’s leg and across Natasha’s lap until he was staring right into Natasha’s face, his feet braced on her arm.  Then, very exaggeratedly, Phil nodded.

Natasha arched an eyebrow.  “I don’t think the plan is that good, Phil,” she said.

Phil huffed and let out a series of chattering chirps and whistles in Dragon.

“You know,” Clint mused.  “If this keeps happening, we’re going to need some sort of translator.”

Natasha snorted.  “We could see if R&D can build a collar like that dog wore in the movie ‘Up’?” she suggested, her eyes dancing.

Clint grinned as Phil growled.  Then, seemingly giving up on them, Phil turned around and launched himself haphazardly into the air.  He wasn’t the most graceful flier, but he managed to reach his desk and land while only sending a few things scattering.  “Careful, Phil,” Clint called out.  “If you break anything, you’re going to be mad later.”

Phil lifted his head and glared before deliberately pushing over a small container of paperclips with his foot.

Clint rolled his eyes, turning back to Natasha.  “He’s worse than a cat,” he said.

Natasha shook her head, smiling.  “Phil’s always been an asshole,” she said.

When Clint glanced back at Phil, the little dragon, snuffling a little, was still pushing things around his desk with his snout.  As if sensing he was being watched, Phil looked up and gave a very impatient sounding yowl, his tail twitching.

“Okay, okay,” Clint said, climbing to his feet.  “What is it?”

Walking over to the desk, Clint paused and cocked his head to the side.  Phil was now apparently spelling things with paper clips.  Okay.  “She… likes you?” he said.

Phil chirped enthusiastically.

Natasha, who had wandered up beside Clint, immediately stilled.  “Are you sure?” she asked.

Phil gave his exaggerated nod again.

“And I should ask her out?” Natasha clarified.  “For coffee?”

Phil nodded so hard he almost fell over and chirped loudly again.

_Fuck_ , Clint’s life was weird.

“Right,” Natasha said, straightening her shoulders.  “I’m going to… go do that.”

Moving forward, his wings fluttering slightly, Phil nuzzled Natasha’s fingers as if trying to give her encouragement.  Natasha smiled softly, scratching Phil under the chin.  “Okay,” she said.  “But if things go badly, it’s your vodka I’ll be drinking.”

Clint nudged her shoulder.  “They won’t,” he said.  “Not if Phil says they won’t.”

Natasha nodded once.  “See you when you’re human again, Phil,” she said.

Phil chirped again, somehow managing to look adorably smug.

Flashing Clint a slightly nervous smile, Natasha pulled on her boots again, and left, this time using the door.

Putting his hands on his hips, Clint stared down at his boyfriend.  “Right.  Do you have any other matchmaking to do, or can we go home now?” he said.

Phil cocked his head to the side as if considering it before he chirped twice and clambered up Clint’s arm to take his preferred place on Clint’s shoulder, his tail wrapped gently around Clint’s neck.

“Okay,” Clint said.  “Home it is.”

<*>

Clint got a junior agent to drive them because with Phil still a dragon, he wasn’t going to chance the subway.  Particularly since odds were he wasn’t going to be able to convince Phil to spend the whole trip hidden under Clint’s jacket.  When he gave the junior agent instructions to take them back to Clint’s apartment in Bed-Stuy, Phil growled and glared up at Clint from the backseat, his tail hitting Clint in the thigh.

“What…?” Clint muttered.  He was exhausted, and he really didn’t need Phil being difficult right now.  “I don’t have any clothes at your place, Phil, and I just want to sleep, okay?”

(And could Clint just say he was loving that this conversation was happening in front of a baby agent?)

Phil huffed and climbed up to sit in Clint’s lap.  Then he poked Clint in the stomach with his snout and growled again.  Okay, maybe Phil had a point, because he was starting to get hungry and there definitely weren’t any groceries at Clint’s place.

“Okay, fine,” Clint said.  “But we’re going to my place first so I can get some clothes, okay, Oh Scaly Lord Emperor?”

Clint caught the junior agent smiling in the rearview mirror as Phil chirped once and then settled down in Clint’s lap to have a nap.

Seriously, what the fuck was his life?

<*>

Going grocery shopping with a dragon was not easy, because Clint had been crazy to think Phil’s apartment would have any more food than his did.  When Clint had pointed that out, Phil had grumbled loudly and then proceeded to have a fifteen minute argument with Clint about whether or not to just get pizza -- which was kind of impressive considering Phil still couldn’t use actual words.

(He could, however, be a dick and sit on Clint’s wallet and keys when he tried to leave.)

Clint had out-stubborned him through sheer force of will, and Phil was now a curled-up ball of malevolence at the bottom of one of Clint’s shopping bags.  This might have had something to do with the thirty times Clint had had to shush Phil because other shoppers were giving him weird stares, or maybe just because Clint had refused to get Phil an entire jar of peanut butter for dinner.  Either way, all Clint could currently see of his boyfriend were two slitted eyes glaring out at him from the shadows below a loaf of bread.

“We’re almost home,” Clint told him, because Phil’s apartment was just down the block.  “And besides, I thought you liked my cooking?”

Neither Phil nor Clint were exactly gourmet chefs, but Phil could cook a mean steak and Clint had a few dishes he was good at.  Phil, when he was human, anyway, seemed to appreciate them.  Clint liked cooking for people he cared about, even if he didn’t get much of a chance.  Besides, he needed to store up all the brownie points he could get for when he inevitably pissed Phil off, so he could at least gain a little time to fix things before Phil decided to wash his hands of the relationship.

(Clint knew he was difficult to live with, okay?)

Phil huffed and let out a low, rumbling growl.

Rolling his eyes, Clint ignored Phil, instead juggling the shopping bags without jostling Phil too much so he could slide the keys out of his pocket.  Phil chirped at the movement, poking his head out the top of the shopping bag.

Clint raised an eyebrow.  “What?” he said.  “I’m the only one of us that has opposable thumbs right now, so you’ll have to give me a minute.”

Getting the door open, Clint headed up to Phil’s apartment and repeated the process.  He kicked the door shut behind him, tossing the keys into their bowl in the hall and then heading straight for Phil’s small kitchen.  He gently set the groceries down on the bench, Phil included, and sighed, exhaustion suddenly hitting him again.  “Okay,” he said, running a hand through his hair.  “I’m cooking something we can easily reheat and then I’m making a blanket nest and living in it for three days.  Sound good to you, Phil?”

Phil crooned sadly, the paper bag rustling as he climbed out.  Picking his way along the bench top, he stopped at the corner and stretched his snout out towards Clint’s fingers.  Smiling tiredly, Clint gave in and ran his hand down Phil’s back.  “You know, no offense, Phil, but I am _really_ looking forward to you turning human again,” he muttered.

With another sad croon, Phil nuzzled Clint’s fingers.  Clint sighed, because yeah, okay, this whole thing probably sucked a whole lot for Phil.  Clint could deal with not having Phil’s arms to snuggle in for a bit longer -- he’d lasted _years_ before he and Phil had gotten together, anyway, so how hard could it be?

(And okay, there was also a greater than fifty percent chance Clint’s future might also be Phil-less, at least in terms of hugs and anything that wasn’t strictly professional behaviour.  He hadn’t had the strength to resist Phil when Phil had kissed him, but he sucked at relationships.  Just ask anyone, really.  It was a miracle that Phil had stuck around this long.)

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, shaking off his dark thoughts.  “So how do you feel about chicken?”

Phil cocked his head to the side and chirped.

“It’s something I learned how to cook in the circus,” Clint said, starting to rummage around Phil’s kitchen to find what he needed.  He mostly remembered where everything was.  “It needs a clay pot, but I’m pretty sure you don’t have one of those, so I’m going to improvise.”

He had to smile as Phil followed him around the kitchen, watching curiously as Clint pulled out a chopping board, a knife, and Phil’s wok.  “I’m also adding plenty of vegetables,” he added, sending a pointed look in Phil’s direction.  “You can’t just survive on coffee and pizza, you know.  Seriously, Phil, we need to talk about your vegetable intake.”

Dropping his head down onto his front paws, Phil looked up at Clint, his eyes big and blue.  Clint narrowed his gaze in return, because Phil was playing dirty.  “I mean it,” Clint warned.

Phil hummed, still staring up at Clint with the eyes.

Sighing, Clint turned away to busy himself with chopping and dicing and coating the chicken.  “So the guy that taught me this recipe was called Shen, but most of us just referred to him as the Cat,” he said as he worked.  It was always easier to tell Phil parts of his past when he didn’t have to make eye contact.  “He wasn’t with the circus long, but he stuck around long enough to teach me how to cook a few things.  He was nice.  Always made time for me.”  Clint smiled, remembering Shen’s raised eyebrow every time he’d shown up at the caravan Shen was staying in.

Clint looked over to see that Phil had sat up, his tail now wrapped around his legs.  His smile widened, because Phil’s listening face was familiar whether he was a dragon or not.  “You won’t be surprised to hear Shen taught me a few other things, too,” Clint continued, starting to chop the ginger and garlic.  “When I found out he could fight, I begged him to teach me.  He didn’t show me much, but what he did definitely saved my life a few times.”

Phil warbled indignantly.

Clint chuckled.  “Yes, I know you’ve saved my life more than a few times, too, Phil.  That’s not my point,” he said, shaking his head when Phil immediately crept closer.

“Shen was also the one who taught me how to pick locks,” Clint added as he started chopping carrots into short sticks.  “And how to case a building.”

Phil glanced up and chirped.

Clint raised both eyebrows, daring Phil to say anything else, and tossed Phil a carrot stick.  “Munch on that if you’re hungry,” he said.

Daintily, Phil picked it up with one claw and bit into it.  Or at least, Clint guessed that’s what he’d intended to do.  Instead, his newly sharp teeth snapped the carrot in half and Phil sort of jerked forwards and almost stabbed himself with the remains of his carrot stick.  Clint very carefully bit back a grin as Phil blinked and then glared at his carrot.  As he crunched ominously, Clint passed over another piece of carrot.

Rearing up on his back legs, Phil grasped the second carrot stick in his other hand and then looked very confused as to what to do next.  Clint chuckled.  “You’re lucky I’m not mean enough to take photographs of you like this,” he said.  “No one would ever take you seriously again.”

Narrowing his eyes, Phil decapitated another carrot stick.

Chuckling, Clint chopped up the rest of the vegetables and threw them into the wok with the chicken and some stock.  “Okay, dinner should be done in about fifteen minutes,” he said.  “I’m going to go change.  You don’t mind if I throw my bag in the corner of your bedroom, right?”

Phil chirped his agreement as Clint headed for Phil’s bedroom, biting back a yawn.  He was still exhausted from his last mission, and the stress of Phil going dragon-mode hadn’t helped.  Running a hand over his face, Clint told himself to get a grip.  Phil would be fine, and he probably wouldn’t even mind that Clint had invaded his apartment under the pretext of taking care of him.  Again.

(No matter how many times Clint invited himself over, Phil never turned him away.  It was kind of trippy.  Clint kept expecting Phil to ask for more space, and he’d tried to keep from leaving his shit all over the place like he wanted to, because this was Phil’s apartment and he shouldn’t assume his things were welcome.)

Besides, Clint really liked Phil’s place.  It was warm and homey, and usually had a Phil in it.  If keeping his stuff tidily in the corner out of the way meant Phil kept letting him in, Clint was happy to do that.

Clint pulled off his henley, and started to toss it towards his overnight bag, when he just sort of… stopped.  Saints, he needed to get it together.  He could feel the back of his eyes stinging, and honestly there was no _reason_ for tears.  Phil was fine, Clint was fine, and Clint should be deliriously happy with everything he got to have.  If his stomach cramped every time he dreamt about waking up with Phil every morning for the rest of his life, then he needed to squash that shit down.  It had barely been three months since Phil had discovered Clint’s feelings, and really, Clint shouldn’t be making assumptions about Phil wanting the same things he did.  Sucking in a ragged breath, he rubbed a hand over his face.  Maybe this was why his relationships never worked out -- there was something broken in Clint that meant he always wanted more than he could have.  

Ruthlessly scrubbing a hand over his face, Clint tossed his henley on the floor and started to unbutton his jeans, only to be interrupted by a sad croon from the doorway.  Glancing over, Clint spotted Phil nosing open the door.  “What, have you come to change into sweats, too?” he teased, trying to reach of his usual irreverence as he kicked off his boots.  “Or are you just here to ogle me?”

Phil crooned sadly again.

“I didn’t say I minded, Phil,” Clint said, swapping his jeans for sweats.  “I mean, I might enjoy it more if you were human, but I don’t mind.”

Shaking his head, Clint forced a smile, because sulking or cursing at the situation wasn’t going to help anyone.  Since Clint couldn’t get the hug he _really_ wanted, he pulled out Phil’s t-shirt drawer, looking for the old, faded Cap t-shirt Phil often wore to bed.

Phil chirped sharply as Clint pulled out the drawer, and Clint froze.  “Sorry,” he muttered.

Chirping again, louder, Phil scurried forwards and wrapped himself around Clint’s ankle.  He gave a warbling croon, his eyes wide and beseeching as he stared up at Clint.

“It’s okay, Phil,” Clint said quietly.  “I won’t touch your t-shirts.”

Phil huffed, and holding Clint’s gaze, he slowly and exaggeratedly shook his head.

Clint smiled weakly.  “Yeah, I promise,” he said.

Phil keened sadly, exaggeratedly shaking his head again.

Frowning, Clint blinked.  “You don’t want me to promise?” he said.

This time Phil nodded.  He let out a series of warbling trills and chirps and tried to climb Clint’s leg.

Giving in, Clint bent down and scooped Phil up.  “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re human again?” he suggested.

Phil huffed.  Wriggling out of Clint’s grasp, he walked over to the still open drawer.  As Clint watched in confusion, Phil nosed around until he found his old Cap t-shirt.  Very carefully, Phil picked up the hem in his teeth and pulled it over to the edge of the drawer, trying to nudge it into Clint’s hand.  Clint’s chest tightened, because Phil was kind of adorable, but also because he was trying to _give Clint the t-shirt_.

Blinking eyes that were suddenly stinging a little, Clint swallowed.  “So you don’t mind if I wear that?” he asked.

Phil just tugged the t-shirt a bit harder, trying to get it closer to Clint.

“Thanks, Phil,” Clint said, gently taking the t-shirt.

He pulled it on, swallowing again when the familiar scent of Phil’s laundry detergent surrounded him.  “Okay,” he said, running a hand through his hair.  “Do you…”

Trailing off, Clint raised both eyebrows.  Phil was now perched, front feet up, on the side of the drawer, straining towards the one next to it.  “Phil, what are you doing?” he said.

Phil glanced at him, then went back to straining at the second drawer, gaze narrowed.  Figuring no one was leaving the bedroom until Phil got what he wanted, Clint let out a sigh and opened the drawer.  “There you go,” he muttered.  “Look… it’s socks and underwear.  Although, I don’t know why you’d need either since I doubt they’d fit you right now.”

Phil sent him a glare over his shoulder before hopping into the second drawer.  He started pushing things around with his snout, so Clint left him to it, because who knew what kind of dragon instincts were muddling Phil’s brain?

Finally, Phil seemed satisfied and sat back.  “Okay,” Clint said.  “You done now?”

Phil huffed and pointed his snout at the right side of the drawer.

“What, you got socks for me, too?” Clint said, stepping forward to peer at what Phil was clearly trying to point at.  

He blinked when he just saw empty space.  Somehow Phil had made a little pile of socks and underwear on the left side of the drawer.  “If this is you nesting, I’m going back out into the living room,” Clint muttered.

Growling, Phil jabbed his snout at Clint and then back down at the drawer.  At least, Clint assumed that was what the jerking and huffing was about.  Clint sighed.  “Yeah, I got nothing, Phil,” he said.

Snorting, Phil hopped up onto the edge of the drawer and flared his wings.  Clint barely managed to take a step backwards before Phil launched himself into the air and swooped down to the ground.  (And Clint would have a panic attack about the _speed_ at which Phil did that later, because boyfriend or not, Phil was still a _dragon_ and it was a little scary, okay?  Clint was allowed to be scared of apex predators.)

Still grumbling, Phil picked up a sleeve of Clint’s discarded henley with his teeth and tried to launch himself back into the air.  Only, with the added weight, he didn’t really have what little grace he seemed to have started with.  It took him a few seconds to get higher than Clint’s knee, but he finally managed to get half the henley into the drawer.  He let it go with a triumphant cry and stared pointedly at Clint.

“What… Phil…” Clint said.  He blinked.  “Wait, are you…?”

Was Phil attempted to clear out space for Clint’s things?  Clint wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with this _at all_.

Impatiently, Phil chirped.  Grabbing the henley, he tugged the shirt further into the drawer, somehow managing to tangle himself in the black fabric.

Clint smiled, blinking rapidly a few times.  “Careful, Phil,” he said, gently untangling the little dragon.  Picking Phil up, Clint cradled Phil against his chest and bent down to press a kiss to Phil’s head.  “I think it’s time we made ourselves a blanket nest on the couch.  Just… do me a favour and tell me everything you want to say right now when you’re human again, okay?”  He swallowed.  “Please?”

Phil chirped again, solemnly, and licked Clint on the cheek.

Clint huffed out a laugh.  “Okay,” he said.

He helped Phil carefully climb up onto his favoured perch on Clint’s shoulder, his tail safely wrapped around the base of Clint’s neck.  Once Phil was settled, Clint headed for the kitchen to check on dinner, and then piled every spare blanket and pillow Phil had on the couch.

“Okay,” he said, as they settled down on the couch with dinner.  “I vote we don’t move more than a few feet until Monday.”

Phil warbled something in reply, but most of the sound was muffled by the way he had his snout buried in a doona, trying to arrange it to his satisfaction.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’,” Clint said.

Poking his head up, Phil chirped, and then went back to yanking a pillow around with his teeth.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” Clint told him.  “You’re just going to climb on top of me when you want a nap, anyway.”

Sure enough, when Phil had finished daintily picking all the carrots and chicken out of his bowl, he carefully crept his way across Clint’s lap to curl up on Clint’s chest.  Clint chuckled, and scratched his fingers down Phil’s back as he snuggled deeper into their blanket nest.  On the TV, something blew up, but truthfully, Clint wasn’t paying the action movie he’d found much attention.  He had a vague thought that he’d probably seen it before as Phil’s rumbling snores lulled him to sleep.

<*>

Sometime later, Clint blinked groggily awake as a bright flash lit up the living room and the weight on his chest dramatically increased.  “Wha’?” he muttered.  “Phil?”

“Yes,” Phil rasped with a low groan.  “It’s me.”

Heart suddenly in his throat, Clint focused on Phil, trying to see if he was injured in the dim, flickering light of the TV.  “Are you okay?” he demanded.  “Are you hurt?”

Phil’s hand on Clint’s chest calmed Clint’s thumping heart a little, as did the sight of Phil’s wonderfully _human_ eyes, crinkling at the corners.  Because Phil had transformed into a dragon on a mission, his suit -- or rather what parts of it that he was wearing -- were dusty and smelled faintly of smoke.  His suit jacket was missing, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loose.

Clint had never seen a better sight _in his life_.

“I’m fine, Clint,” Phil said softly as he continued to look down at Clint.  He smiled.  “Hi.”

“Hi,” Clint echoed, still trying to get his wits together.  “You’re back.”  He blinked, glancing around, because it wasn’t _that_ early yet.  “Wait.  It hasn’t been…”

“Twenty-four hours yet?” Phil finished, shifting to the side so he wasn’t squashing Clint into the couch so much.  Clint immediately turned towards him, cuddling closer.  He needed the comfort.

Phil ran a soothing hand down Clint’s back.  “No.  It hasn’t.  I think I’ve figured out how to control the transformations.”

Clint blinked again, his brain fuzzy enough that he wasn’t sure he was grasping the full impact of the conversation.  “So no more little dragon?” he said.

Phil shook his head.  “Actually, it means no more being _stuck_ as a little dragon, because let me tell you, it’s not as cute as it looks.”

“What?” Clint said.  “How?  I don’t understand any of this.”  He sighed, trying to get up, but Phil just tightened his grip to keep Clint on the couch.  “We need to tell Maria about this.”

Phil nodded, but his mouth lost the faint smile curling the corner.  “We can tell Maria all about it in the morning,” he said firmly.  “Right now, there’s a few things I think I want to get clear.”

“Oh?” Clint said, swallowing heavily.

Reaching up to cup Clint’s cheek, Phil ran his thumb along Clint’s jaw.  “Don’t ever think that I don’t want you around, Clint.  Seeing you, coming home to you, are some of the best parts of my day,” he said softly.  “I just know how much you prize your freedom, and I never want you to feel obligated or trapped.”  He smiled sadly, his eyes studying Clint’s face.  “But if you want to be here, I will happily give you as much space and as many drawers as you want.”

Clint was speechless for a moment, just sort of, well, _melting_ , as a syrupy, golden warmth spread through his chest.  “And uh,” he whispered, clearing his throat.  “What if I just kind of came over and… stayed?”

Phil’s smile widened, bright and happy, his eyes crinkling deeper.  “Then I would be very, very happy,” Phil said.

Clint smiled, his cheeks aching a little.  “Cool,” he said.  “Okay.”

Phil’s eyes were warm and fond.  “Okay,” he agreed.

Frowning, Clint thought back to what else Phil had said.  “So, wait, you can change into a dragon when you want to now?” he said.  “That’s…”

Phil leaned down, cutting him off with a kiss.  Clint’s words trailed off in a breathier moan than his ego was comfortable with, but he’d been half convinced this time Phil would be stuck as a dragon _forever_ , and it was really nice to be kissing his human boyfriend again.  Besides, Phil never judged him.  He gave into the kiss, arching up and fisting his hand in Phil’s shirt.

“I thought we were telling Maria and Nick in the morning?” Phil said when he pulled back for a moment, but his voice was hoarser than it had been five minutes ago.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, trying to tug Phil back down.  “Okay.  Good plan.”

Chuckling, Phil leaned down again, and Clint arched up, twisting, letting out a small “ha!” when he managed to flip them so that Phil was lying mostly underneath him.  Phil’s eyes were so bright and warm as they stared up at him, and Clint got lost in Phil’s gaze, his heart thumping against his ribs and his throat tight.  “I love you,” Clint blurted, because he really didn’t say that enough.  “And the dragon-you is very cute and everything, but I’m kinda glad…” He trailed off, waving a hand that vaguely encompassed Phil’s body.

He didn’t really expect Phil to know what he meant because his thoughts were tangled enough that _Clint_ wasn’t even sure what he meant, but Phil always had a knack for knowing what was going on in Clint’s brain.  “Me too,” he said softly.  “Come here.”

Clint went, sinking into Phil’s arms, because Phil was whole and _there_ and Clint didn’t want to be anywhere else.  Possibly ever again.

“I love you, too,” Phil whispered, and Clint had to shut his eyes against the prickle of tears, because dragon or not, Phil was kind of perfect.

“Even when you don’t let me have any more coffee,” Phil added.

Clint smiled and leaned down for another kiss.

 

End.


End file.
